


Shoot to Maim

by Leidolette



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Altered Mental States, F/M, Gore, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-03-12 03:06:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3341243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leidolette/pseuds/Leidolette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The mercenaries turn on Miss Pauling. Later, when she thinks about it, she's kind of surprised it didn't happen sooner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Two Weeks Ago

**Author's Note:**

> Contents and story spoilers in the end notes.

In a dark room, in an unknown location, two men sat at a table. 

"Cut off the head. Take out the Administrator," one man said in a language that may or may not have been English. 

The other man nodded obediently. 

The first man took a long drag off his cigarette, then absently waved his hand. "And that assistant of hers too."

The second man affirmed, then left the room. 

\----

The rocket came down at 2:51am. Small and sleek, it looked like nothing more than a child's toy. It landed nose down in a gravel pile near the base entrance with a neat little _thunk_. The night was still again, for a moment. Some lonely desert bird called in the distance. 

Then the back of the missile opened like a flower. Invisible, odorless gas silently streamed out of it. Heavier than the surrounding air, it spread out like carpet, slipping around walls and underneath doorways. In under a minute, the payload was delivered. 

The base of the rocket snapped shut again.


	2. Tonight (I)

Miss Pauling was rudely jolted out of a perfectly peaceful dream in which all her equipment request forms were neatly filed and all inconvenient corpses already quietly disposed of. 

**BEEEEP BEEEEP BEEEEP**

The ear-splitting sound of the proximity alarm filled the room. She scrambled out of bed, threw on whatever clothes she could find, and hurried down the long hallway to the command room. She had taken to spending the night on one base or another on days when her workload just seemed to never end -- a situation that cropped up too often for Miss Pauling's taste. 

And of course whatever emergency that was currently going down had to happen during a week where the Administrator was mysteriously absent. Miss Pauling never asked why, since nosing about in the Administrator's business was a good way to end up with a quicklime blanket. 

Miss Pauling attempted to put her hair up in her customary bun as she ran. She just finished (with mixed results, she thought with some dismay) as she hurried through the command room door. Quickly, she scanned the monitors displaying live feeds of the base grounds. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary on first glance. But still the sensors indicated that something was there. Something small. Miss Pauling checked the instrument panels for traces of chemical, biological, and even nuclear contaminants. 

Nothing. Just that there was something metal out in the yard. 

Miss Pauling leaned back in her chair and thought for a moment, picking at the chipped polish on her fingernails and staring off into space. Then, abruptly, she reached across the control panel and activated the PA system in Scout's room.

"Scout? Wake up, I have an assignment for you."

"Ma, I told you I'd put the underwear out on the line later," Scout mumbled, sounding barely awake.

"No, Scout, it's Miss Pauling."

There was a thump over the intercom, like he had possibly fallen out of bed. "Oh, hey! Miss Pauling" He sounded much more awake now. "What's up? You calling to talk? 'Cause, uh, I could come down to your room for a while. Y'know, just hang out."

Miss Pauling had no idea what Scout thought she wanted to chit-chat about at three in the morning. She tried to impress upon him the gravity of the situation.

"Scout, we had an unknown object breach the perimeter of this base, one of the most technologically advanced centers on Earth outside of Australia. I need you here at the command center _right now_ to help get this figured out."

"Oh, gotcha. Two minutes."

"Be ready to run." Then she left him to his devices.

She keyed in a new code to the PA system and called Engineer's room this time. He woke with with considerably more grace than Scout, if not exactly good humor. But he was on his way to his workshop soon enough to be ready to receive the object when Scout brought it in. 

Scout appeared well before his two minutes were up. He was missing his baseball cap and still bleary-eyed, but he seemed game to go on what could be a very dangerous jaunt. 

"It's really starting early today, huh, Miss Pauling?"

"Unfortunately," she said, then began her debriefing, switching on the intercom to the workshop so Engineer could hear too. After she relayed the relatively scant information she had, there was nothing left to do but send Scout outside with some last minute instructions. 

"Keep your radio turned on, and switch it to two-way. I want you to give me updates on what you're seeing -- constant contact."

Scout smiled wide, like she'd given him a little present. "Yeah?"

"And no flirting," she specified. "Only real observations."

He looked slightly sulky for a moment. 

She lightly touched his forearm to get his attention back. She got it in an instant. "Remember, this thing could be dangerous. Don't even touch it. I want you to pick up a scanner and containment unit from Engi before you go out."

"You bet!" He gave her a shit-eating grin while he jogged in place for a moment to warm up, then he was out the door and on his way to the workshop.

Scout was out in the yard only a minute or two after that. She watched his fuzzy figure jump from one monitor to the next as he sprinted around the gravel yards and outlying buildings. As he ran, he kept up a steady stream of observations in her ear, which mostly consisted of stuff like: "Nope, nothing outta the ordinary by the north gate," and "Wait! I see- oh, it's just a bunch of raccoons." He searched in a looping spiral, starting close and then widening out to larger circles as he progressed. In the end, it didn't take long.

"Got something here, Miss Pauling."

She saw him stop behind one of the gravel piles, at an angle that the camera mostly couldn't see. 

"It looks like a rocket or something. Like from one of them old Flash Gordon flicks." He then disappeared completely from her view behind a pile of rocks; over the radio she heard the sound of gravel shifting. "It's not real big, maybe two feet." More sounds of rocks clattering.

Miss Pauling heart beat hard for a second. "Approach it _very_ carefully, Scout!"

"Hey, don't worry, I got this covered."

Miss Pauling had strong misgivings about Scout's ability to handle a situation with any amount of delicacy, but she continued with her instructions. "Alright, without getting too close, switch the front right dial on the scanner to '026' and then press the grey button marked 'D'. Now what's happening?"

"Uh, sure is making a lot of beeps and bloops?"

"Look at the gauges. Are any of the needles pointed to red?"

"No."

"Hmm... Any sign of an explosion around the crash site?"

"Nah, must've been a dud."

Miss Pauling wasn't so sure. 

"Use the containment unit."

With more care than Miss Pauling would have guessed he was capable of, Scout took the unit out of his pack and came partially back into view. It was an alien looking contraception, all chrome and wires. Scout staked out an area of about a meter squared around the thing, sticking curious metal stakes at each of the corners. He flipped a nearly invisible switch on the side of the last stake and stepped back.

At once, the containment unit began unfolding in a manner not dissimilar to a sentry. A multitude of thin chrome bars shot of the stakes, connecting and connecting until they formed a screened cube around the rocket. Finally, several hair-thin wires wrapped around the rocket and kept it delicately suspended in the middle of the cube.

Scout picked it up like it was nothing and went on his way.

"Get it to Engi right away. And _please_ don't jostle it too much," Miss Pauling said, the tone of her voice veered into begging a bit here. It would be just their luck for Scout to trip on the way back and blow them all sky high. Scout grinned and gave a lazy salute towards the surveillance camera before taking off towards the workshop.

Miss Pauling would consider calling the Administrator at this point... if she had any idea of how to reach her.

She had to settle for calling Engineer when Scout reported that he had made it back to the workshop without anything _too_ disastrous happening. 

"Yep, looks like a rocket," Engineer confirmed when he finally got his hands on the thing.

"That's what _I_ thought too!" came Scout's voice in the background.

"I want you to find out this thing's purpose, Engi. Quarantine and safety tests first, of course," Miss Pauling ordered. "And keep the line open, please."

Engineer narrated each step of his process while, as far as she could tell, Scout made a general nuisance of himself. Engi took X-rays, ran scans, weighed, measured, examined, and even prodded, until he declared: 

"Looks harmless so far, but I'm not taking any chances. In a couple of minutes the instruments will be ready and I'll run some secondary tests to see if the damn thing's changed at all."

"That sounds good."

"I'll send the boy over with some initial information, so you can get a sense of what we're working with here."

Scout skidded to a halt in the hallway a few minutes later, papers in hand, not looking the least out of breath despite having recently run all over the battleground and then all the way back to the command center from the workshop. Though she had many of her own skills (if she does say so herself), sometimes Miss Pauling just had to envy the mercs.

"Thank you, Scout." She took the papers from him. She expected him to head back to his room to try and salvage a decent amount of sleep from the, but he followed her into the room, fiddling around as she leafed through the various readouts and photos. She didn't really mind, it was nice not being alone, and Scout could be good company when he managed to entertain himself during times she needed to buckle down.

Kind of like now. She was so engrossed that she didn't notice the flashing intercom signal until Scout said something. 

"Oh! Yes, will you get that please?" she said, pushing her glasses back up her nose.

"Sure thing, Miss Pauling." He seemed very eager to simply press a button.

Engineer's voice sounded frustrated when it crackled over the speaker. "Can't find a damn thing unusual about this little thing."

"Nothing? What about inside?"

"Look, it's empty, miss. If there was anything in there when it landed, it's long gone now. And no machine I got is picking up traces of anything."

Miss Pauling was not especially happy to hear this. Yes, it was better than if the rocked had been filled with C-4, but no one just sends an empty rocket to crash down on a base filled with millions of dollars of Hale-grade weapons and a whole passel of unstable and expensive mercenaries.

"Thanks, Engi. I'd like you to keep looking though, just in case something presents itself."

Engineer let out something between a sigh and a growl and then just a short, terse, "Right," before letting the connection go dead. 

Miss Pauling blinked. That seemed unusually bad-tempered, coming from Engi. Guess he really wasn't a morning person. She went back to inspect the pictures, hoping that the glossy, high-res would tell her something. She absently chewed on her lip as Scout hovered and kept up a one-sided conversation.

"Maybe it's nothing. I hear kids make 'em sometimes. Probably just some punks drunk on stolen beers setting these off. C'mon, it's not like we didn't all do dumber things than that as kids, right?"

Actually, Miss Pauling hadn't, but that was beside the point.

"Demoman should inspect this," Miss Pauling finally decided. She trusted Engi's judgement, but this whole situation just didn't make sense. As ornery (and possibly hungover) as Demo would be getting woken in the middle of the night, she really needed to have some peace of mind that this thing wasn't going to turn this base into a crater.

"Aw man, do we really need a third wheel? The two of us can figure this thing out, c'mon." Scout stopped his faux-casual lean again against the wall and walked toward her. 

He craned his head over her shoulder to try and get a look at the pictures, getting into her personal space in the process. She ignored it and continued her own inspection of the photos and readouts; Scout's general habit of being a little in-your-face and annoyingly clingy was well-known and expected by everyone. 

What was less expected was Scout caressing her back all the way from the top of her shoulder down to the small of her back where he let his hand rest. Miss Pauling almost visibly startled.

"Scout, take your hand off me."

He did not. Instead he said, "You smell real nice, Miss Pauling. Did I ever tell ya that? I guess not, but I don't know why - I think it almost everyday." He was rambling, sounding almost like he was drunk.

Then his sharp gaze was back on her as he continued. "But you gotta know that anyways, of course. I mean, you do it on purpose, right? Little dab of perfume on the back of your neck just to drive me crazy." 

He began leaning towards the spot he indicated, his eyes half closed. Her back stiffened when she felt his breath on her neck. 

"Stop it, Scout." She made her voice sharp and steely, despite her surprise. Though the mercs dealt in brutal violence every workday, Miss Pauling rarely had to rely on shows of authority or threats to their income to keep order. The mercs usually followed her directions rather well and with relatively little fuss. 

She had been worried about that when she had first started, actually; some men had a terrible time taking orders from a woman. And though they'd obviously listened to the Administrator, Miss Pauling had still had her doubts. It hadn't helped that she was petite, mousy, and younger than all of them except Scout. 

But no one had ever disrespected her when she handed out assignments, even if they clearly weren't happy about them. If she shouted out a command in a tense situation, the mercenaries followed it. 

Until now. 

This was unusually inappropriate behavior for Scout. Not that he was what anyone would call 'appropriate' at the best of times, but he'd never gone so far as to touch her like this without her permission. 

She'd even gotten to the point where she found some of his behavior charming. And sometimes in the evening, while she was on her night rounds, she thought of the long stretch of his legs and his lean back, and could appreciate those too. 

But all that was evaporating the longer Scout ignored her and kept his hand on he back. 

"Stop it. I mean it."

" _Stop it, Scout_ ," he said in a falsetto, mocking version of her voice. "That's all ya ever tell me. Always saying 'no', always giving me the brush-off. I tell ya, Miss Pauling, there's only so much a man can take."

She grit her teeth. "Scout, this is not the time to air whatever misguided romantic grievances you might have."

He obviously wasn't going to listen to her, so she stepped away herself, his fingers sliding down her hip as she did so, making her furious. It was humiliating -- apparently she couldn't even keep _Scout_ in line, god. Up until now, the guy used to jump at the chance to impress her. Soon she was going to lose control of the whole team and then Administrator was going to fire her and probably even have her killed. Miss Pauling knew way too much about the inner workings of Mann Co. to just be allowed to walk away. 

"You pretend you're all prim and proper with your glasses and your hair all pulled back. A regular bluestocking. You think you're better than the rest of us getting blown up every day?"

"Scout-"

"You think you're too good for me?" And for the first time in their long acquaintance, Miss Pauling's guts ran cold at the sound of his voice. He had maneuvered himself to be between her and the door. It was sloppy of her, really, she knew better than to let that happen. It's just... she really wasn't expecting this from Scout. 

He began advancing on her, slowly.

She held her anger and fear in check, drawing her hard-won professionalism around her like a suit of armor. Often, she knew, she appeared harried or distracted as she tried to juggle a hundred tasks at once. Now, she just needed to be cold and clinical. 

"Of course not, Scout." Her voice was even, and as smooth as butter.

Her face was blank as she turned away from him and busied herself straightening the pile of papers in her hands. Without looking at him, she took a few steps into the tiny alcove off the main room that contained rows of floor-to-ceiling filing cabinets. She opened a drawer of the file cabinet nearest to her and began to leaf through it, listening as Scout came closer and closer. His breathing was quicker than normal. 

"Why don't you go to bed," she said as she neatly deposited the photos and papers into cabinet, trying one last time. "You must be very tired.

"You're not my freakin' boss anymore," he rasped. She could feel him pressed against her back. 

Miss Pauling's fingers slipped into the set of brass knuckles tucked into a folder (filed helpfully under 'B') and she whirled around and punched Scout in the face with such force that he was knocked back into almost a perfect spin before falling on his ass. She thought that spoke for itself.

She had to move very fast now.

Before Scout could recover, she dashed out of the room and slammed the door to the alcove. She turned the worryingly flimsy lock and jammed the nearest chair under the doorknob for good measure. She tucked the brass knuckles into her skirt pocket to free up her fingers and then turned back to the computers at the center of the room.

By now Scout was on his feet and pounding on the door. The hinges rattled. Miss Pauling tried to ignore it as she activated the security computer and started inputting code after code. There were lockdown procedures that could be activated, though they were heavily cautioned against because of how vulnerable they would leave the base to outside attack. As Scout began slamming his shoulder into the door, his whole weight behind each blow, Miss Pauling decided that she wasn't particularly concerned about that right now. Scout definitely wasn't himself right now, and only an idiot would think that the rocket wasn't somehow involved. And she doubted the effects were contained.

The moment after she finished the last code, a glowing yellow button rose from a panel on the console in front of her. She slammed her fist down on it. She could only hope that it was doing its job, that thick steel grates were slamming down all over the barracks, locking the mercs in their rooms. If any of them were still in there, that is, and not wandering the halls. All the monitors in the room flickered off and the computers automatically shut down, awaiting a special code to turn them on again.

She tried to take stock of the situation as she left Scout raging in the locked alcove and ran to her personal locker. She shoved supplies into a backpack and thought; Scout was definitely not safely contained, and possibly not Engi either, depending on if he was in his workshop when the bars came down, but she wasn't sure if there was anyone else. She hoped to god those two were it. 

Her locker was mostly empty by the time she was done. She now had keys to just about every room in the compound, a small amount of medicine, a handgun, a clip of ammo, a single ancient stickybomb, and a rubber duck.

And by the time Miss Pauling heaved the heavy sack onto her back and left, she also had a plan.


	3. Tonight (II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, did I say a week?

Respawn was a miracle of science.

Unfortunately, Respawn was a miracle that had very specific rules, each of which must be followed to a T. First, a combatant had to be preregistered with the Respawn system. Second, a combatant had to die within the confines of the battlefield. Third, a combatant must be killed (directly or indirectly) by another combatant, by suicide, or by the battlefield environment for Respawn to work. 

And usually all these rules worked just fine. But today Miss Pauling had one big problem: she was not considered a combatant by the system.

This meant that if Miss Pauling splattered a merc's brains all over the wall, he was not going to be stepping out of Respawn in a couple minutes all clean and tidy. He was going be dead, and he would stay dead because Miss Pauling was not technically classified as a combatant in the employee database.

That also meant that if it were _her_ throat slashed and bleeding out on the floor, she wouldn't be coming back either. 

Everyone was playing for keeps today. 

Respawn acted like this partially because the Administrator wanted to always have the option to kill the mercs herself at the drop of a hat (or order Miss Pauling to do the dirty work for her). A less murderous reason was that it was very expensive to key a new person into Respawn, so why bother with the administrative support staff. And, finally, because in this game of ridiculous, farcical chess between two brothers, each of them insisted on very stringent and pointless rules. 

Orders and rules. She lived and died by them. There was a contract as thick as a phone book which detailed all the asinine restrictions and regulations that must be followed during any given match. Miss Pauling had been required to memorize it before she had even shown up to the job interview. 

Miss Pauling knew perfectly well that if it came down to a choice between her and the mercs, she would choose herself. 

But.

She wouldn't let it come to that.

After all, her job was on the line.

But even she had to admit that she was pretty unsettled. Miss Pauling was no stranger to violence -- she regularly got her hands dirty -- but never before had she felt so... hunted. Was this what the mercs dealt with everyday? She might be persuaded to be a little more sympathetic to their complaints in the future. Though she would probably never relent on not building that in-ground pool half of them keep petitioning her for.

She needed to get situated before Scout pounded his way out of the file room. It was sure to happen soon, the door had already been rattling ominously when she'd left. She would have to make the most of the advantage of her head start.

And Miss Pauling knew something that Scout did not.

Last year, Pyro had developed the nasty habit of appropriating the more flammable cleaning supplies from janitor's closets across the base. In an effort to stem the rash of minor (but noxious) chemical fires, each closet was renovated and equipped with a steel reenforced door and a state-of-the-art lock. The location and passcode to these closets had been kept top-secret ever since Pyro had accidentally set a visiting member of the Board of Director's wig on fire with a mixture of Ajax and various pesticides. Only the Administrator, Miss Pauling, and motley group of wise janitors knew the codes. 

Unfortunately for Miss Pauling, however, the hideout was clear across the base.

Her skirt kicked up around her thighs as she ran, shoes slapping against the ground with each stride. She was incredibly thankful for her longstanding habit of wearing flats to work.

The gun was a steadying presence in her hand.

The lights in the hallways were dimmed to three-fourths power for the night. Normally Miss Pauling didn't even notice the change, but tonight it made each doorway shadowed and sinister. Each hall seemed to stretch unnaturally long. She became aware of the faint buzzing of the electrical system. Her footsteps and breathing seemed to thunder through her ears. She was getting close to the exit.

She turned the corner, and there was Scout, right in front of her. 

His eyes locked onto hers.

There was a moment of hesitation. A moment where she couldn't breath. This moment lasted approximately a quarter of a second, before she brought her arm up and fired.

Scout's right shoulder jerked back, and he crumpled backwards to the ground with a grunt. 

All her training screamed at her to shoot twice in the chest and once in the head. She resisted, but kept the gun in her hand. 

He didn't get back up.

She stood there, uncertain. Every muscle was tense and ready to bolt at the slightest provocation. 

"Scout?" She said, doing an admirable job keeping the anxiety from her voice.

But Scout wasn't even moving. She was beginning to realize that this may not have been one of her cleaner shots. She tried to pinpoint exactly where she'd got him, but the angle was wrong and she wouldn't be able to tell unless she got closer. 

Her insides went cold with nausea and adrenaline. 

Shit, fuck, fuck. She might have really wounded him -- mortally so. She crept closer, there was no sign of movement from him besides the shallow rise and fall of his chest and the blood seeping across his shirt. There was quite a lot of it, she couldn't tell if this was normal for a non-mortal shoulder wound, or if Scout was bleeding his life's blood all over the floor right in front of her. Frankly, the vast majority of her medical knowledge dealt only with various aspects of cadavers. 

God, she _really_ didn't want him to die. 

She hesitated, then made a snap decision. Quickly she pulled the last of her medicine from her pack. She would give him some, just enough to pull him out of danger of immediate death, but not heal him to the point where he could hop back up and chase her. 

The medicine in her hand felt much too tiny for the gory wound it was supposed to heal. The tube had no instructions, or any text at all beyond a red cross with a circle around it. But Miss Pauling had used this stuff too many times in the past to need directions. She squirted the quasi-magical goo all over Scout's shoulder, not even bothering to move his shirt aside. The salve would work even through the material. 

Luckily, the stuff also worked almost instantaneously. Blood stopped welling up as soon as the salve touched the wound. His breaths started coming easier. His bleary, soft-focused eyes found hers and he blinked slowly. He seemed not to recognize her, or understand what was going on -- but he also didn't seem like he was in the process of dying anymore. Good. Now she had to get out of here--

And then a glow engulfed Scout accompanied by the most angelic, terrible sound: the resonant whine of the Medigun. 

_Oh God._

Quick as a striking rattlesnake, Scout's hand clamped down on her wrist. 

"Wait a minute there, Miss Pauling."

She tried to jerk her arm back, but it was too late. His hand held fast around her wrist and with every moment the Medigun was trained on him it gripped her tighter. 

Medic rose up like a ghost behind Scout, his lab coat billowing out as he ascended the flight of stairs at the opposite end of the hallway. A strange, very controlled sort of panic set in -- she was outclassed, outgunned, and now, she was outnumbered. The courses of action left to her were rapidly dwindling. 

Fortunately, Miss Pauling had never been the type to freeze in high-stress situations, no matter how sticky they became. 

She punched Scout as hard as she could in the neck with her free hand. She wasn't able to crush his windpipe, but he reflexively gagged and wheezed and the hand around her wrist loosened just a hair. With a perfectly-timed, bone-jolting heave, she broke away and ran down the nearest junction of the long hallway. Even as she sprinted as fast as she could, she knew it was hopeless; Scout would recover in an instant and she had no chance of outrunning him. Already she could hear the beat of his shoes behind her. In just a few seconds he would--

And then she felt a blast of burning air at her back. 

Just an instant after that she was on the ground with something caught fast around her ankle. She let out a sharp noise between clenched teeth as she she hit the floor at an awkward angle that slammed her kneecap and caused whatever had her ankle to twist it viciously. She lied there taking in a couple pained breaths before she could even face the riot of heat that boiled behind her. Miss Pauling flipped over and saw Scout, but the circumstances were incredibly different from just moments ago. 

Scout was a burning mess. Clothing, hair, and skin were all quickly disappearing in the inferno that engulfed him and Medic. And it wasn't done yet. There was a constant jet of flame spraying out through a thickly grated door on the side of the hallway. The blaze burned so hot and was so all-consuming that Scout and Medic weren't even able to scream. It was only their jerky, writhing movements on the floor that revealed that their charred bodies were even alive.

Soon even that stopped. 

The only part of Scout that appeared unburned was the hand that was still gripping her around the ankle. Behind him, Medic lay in a motionless, blackened heap on the ground. 

It was horrific to see. Even with her steel stomach, even knowing that he and Medic would be popping into Respawn in just a few minutes -- healthy and whole, she still found herself shaking with shock and something a little like grief. Oh God, she could _smell_ it.

Then the stream of flame was cut off and, behind the grate, Pyro turned to her. She could see herself reflected in the mask's black lenses. There was nothing she could do. She waited with closed eyed for the incredibly painful death that was about to be bestowed on her by a flamethrower. 

Nothing came. There was a muffled, friendly sort of sound. She opened her eyes and Pyro gave a happy little wave from behind the grated door.

Miss Pauling stared dumbly, only able to numbly wonder why she wasn't dead. Pyro stared back and then waved again. Finally, she had the presence of mind to lift her hand and weakly return the gesture. Her eyes travelled down to the gas mask, and then over the airtight suit covering the rest of Pyro's body. Things finally snapped into place. 

"You're not contaminated!" she said excitedly. It was the first good news she'd had all night. She shook off Scout's grisly hand from around her ankle and stood up, trying not to look at the bodies.

"Mmmphh."

She sagged with relief. "Thank you, Pyro. Can you do me a favor and kill anyone else that comes down this hallway that isn't me?"

Pyro's suit squeaked a little with the enthusiastic nod. 

"Pyro, I'm going to do my best to get you a fantastic bonus this year," she said gratefully as she picked herself up off the ground and adjusted her pack. Wow, did it feel great to have someone on this base that wasn't trying to kill her, even if that ally was stuck in a dormitory behind a heavy steel grate.

Miss Pauling unhappily eyed the bars keeping Pyro trapped. When she had hit the emergency switch, she really hadn't been planning on having to open the doors anytime soon. Each one was locked down tight, and the keypads on the walls next to the doors would not accept any code other than one known only to the Administrator herself. If Miss Pauling wanted to open this door, she would have to go back to the control room and input a series of executive codes to open Pyro's door. Plus, at least part of the computer was broken during the first fight with Scout so she would have to replace the monitor and maybe some connective wires before she could input the code. It wasn't complicated, but Scout and Medic would be out of Respawn and on her long before she could finish. 

As much as she needed the firepower, Pyro had to be left here. And she needed to keep moving.

"I can't unlock the door right now. Sorry," Miss Pauling said. Pyro just shrugged in a 'well, what can you do' kind of way. 

"But if I can, I'll come back."

Something clanged against the bars, she looked down to see Pyro's flare gun pushed towards her. It was a tight squeeze, but between the two of them, they managed to fit it through the bars. Miss Pauling expertly checked the cartridge and the sight; it seemed to be in good working order - with one round in the chamber.

Frankly, Miss Pauling didn't see how it would be more helpful than the gun she already had, but she wasn't exactly in the position of turning down gifts from allies at this point. She stuck the flare gun in her backpack. 

"Thanks, Pyro," she said to the expressionless black mask. "I have to go now."

Pyro only stared. 

"Remember, kill everyone you see!" She called back as she hurried away. 

"Mm mmph!" Pyro said, fingers making an 'OK' sign. _What a good employee,_ Miss Pauling thought as she left Pyro's quarters behind. _If only all the mercenaries were like that._

The good mood didn't last long. As soon as the yay-I'm-not-dead euphoria began to wear off, Miss Pauling became aware that she did not escape that last encounter completely unscathed. Every time her left heel hit the floor a jolt of awful, tight pain ran through her ankle. She found herself heavily favoring her bad leg, and the limp slowed her down.

Well, at least it wasn't broken, Miss Pauling thought as she grit her teeth through the pain. She forced herself to walk as fast as was feasible and hurried on.

If she died during this ridiculous debacle, Miss Pauling hoped that the Administrator didn't just leave her for the vultures. Miss Pauling thought that she warranted a poorly marked pauper's grave, at least. 

\----

She didn't get much further before things went pear-shaped again. She supposed that wasn't too different from any other given day at Mann Co.

There was the ear-splitting sound of reverb as the PA system crackled to life. Miss Pauling jumped about a mile into the air, then muffled her cry of pain with her own hand as the action badly jarred her ankle.

"Ah, hello? Am I transmitting?"

The voice echoed down the hallway. Accented and cheery, it was immediately identifiable as Medic.

"Oh! Yes, it's working, good. I suppose you can hear me then, Miss Pauling?" His tone was light and conversational. Despite knowing he couldn't see her, she still felt a nasty prickling sensation on the back of her neck. She balled her hands into fists and warily continued walking. 

"I am feeling better now, as I am sure you were concerned about. Burning to death is quite a painful way to go, but what is a little pain between friends, ja?" A manic giggle escaped him for a split-second before he clamped down on it. 

"And we are friends, are we not, Miss Pauling," he said, back to sounding paternal and warm. Miss Pauling did her best to ignore him. Half expecting to see Medic's smiling face loom up in front of her with each turn she made down the hallway, Miss Pauling walked on.

"I have been holding myself back for these last several years, and, for the life of me, I can no longer remember why." He chuckled to himself then. "Though, perhaps I should say 'for the life of you.'"

"But I find my priorities has recently... changed. And perhaps yours should too! You think that your limbs need to keep the same number of joints they had when you were born? You think that your teeth are best located in your mouth? These are silly, provincial ideas, and I believe you to be above them, Miss Pauling."

_God, Medic sure loves the sound of his own voice,_ Miss Pauling thought.

"Scout wants you for his petty, sordid reasons," Medic said dismissively. "But I want you for the advancement of all mankind," he said. "Or possibly for the advancement of some kind of human-bird hybrid species that I'm still tinkering with, we will see how that plays out."

"So I am asking you, Miss Pauling, donate your body to science." It sounded grand for a moment, albeit in a terribly macabre sort of way, until Medic apparently couldn't keep up the pretense anymore and burst into delighted, maniacal laughter.

"It is something of a mandatory 'donation.' I'll see you soon, Miss Pauling."

And with that, the hallway was plunged into darkness as all the lights on base went out.

After Miss Pauling realized that she had _not_ died a sudden death, she took a deep breath and slowly let it out. She needed to calm down _right now_. A cool head had always been her biggest asset. She'd never been afraid of the mercs before, why should that change just because they were now homicidal maniacs out for her blood? Two out of those three things had always been true, after all. 

She should count herself lucky, really. She only had to deal with a few mercenaries out of the nine. Things could be much worse, really.

She still had options. At the moment, the best idea seemed to be a tactical retreat. 

She focused on her next task. Down the hallway to her right she could see a square of dark blue hovering in the darkness -- a window. She ran towards it as her brain worked in overtime. 

The loss of power, including -- incredibly -- the auxiliary power, threw a wrench in her plans. The elevators were likely useless, or nearly so. Even the electrical communication that was in the janitor's closer wouldn't be functional. She had to start thinking extremely low-tech. 

There was a sound off to her right. There, all the way down at the end of the hallway, light from the moon reflected off Engineer's goggles. Wrench in hand, he began to sprint towards her.

Apparently, thinking low-tech meant that Miss Pauling would have to jump out the window.

The broken screen tore at her elbows. It wasn't a long fall, but when she hit the ground, something in her ankle ground together with a disgusting crackle and she almost screamed in pain. But there was no time for that, she had to be out of Engineer's line of sight by the time he got to the window. She hobbled around the corner of the building, hugging the shadows of the wall for cover.

Miss Pauling had actually made it closer to her destination than she'd thought. This side of the base had hard desert dirt encroaching on the broken asphalt of a huge abandoned lot. A couple rusting cars and pickups sat forgotten in one of the corners and there was a busted bag of trash in one of the others.

But Miss Pauling only had eyes for one thing. There, on the side of the lot closest to the true expanse of the desert, next to a ramshackle storage shed that seemed barely supported by its columns, was what appeared to be rather pointless telephone pole whose wires had long since been salvaged for scrap. Yet it was that telephone pole that almost made Miss Pauling laugh in relief. Because it wasn't a telephone pole -- it was the topside entrance to the saferoom.

She broke into a run. All she had to do was make it to that 'telephone pole.' over there and she would be home free.

WHAM!

A baseball slammed hard against her jaw and knocked her to her knees. Her gun skittered across the ground, out of sight. She tried to get to her feet but it was like the ground was a see-saw and she just tumbled down again. Her head was spinning far too fast for her think straight. 

A burst of raucous laughter sounded from her right. She blearily turned her head (where had her glasses gone?) in that general direction and saw Scout sitting on the hood of one of the cars, lazily swinging a bat into his hand. 

"Hey, Miss Pauling," he said, still laughing, "Heads up!"

He slid off the hood, casually tossing another baseball in the air and catching it.

"Y'see, Miss Pauling, I pay attention to you. Watching you adjust your glasses, watching you make quick little notes on your clipboard, watching you dig shallow graves. And, hey, watching your routines. I think I know you, Miss Pauling, I really do."

She barely heard him through the static in her skull. It was all she could do to not lose her lunch. Panting for breath, Miss Pauling watched as he came closer. God, she was going to be killed by Scout. Somehow that was just a little bit more embarrassing than being killed by any other class. 

He slid in and out of focus. Her jaw was throbbing. She was still fighting to clear her head. Where was her gun? Nearly blind, her hands scrabbled across the ground. The shifting bag on her back pulled her off balance with every movement.

"Man, I remember the day I first met you, Miss Pauling. You had your hair pulled back tight and your thick glasses on and I thought 'Eh, I guess she'll do. Girl looks like that I can bag her inside a week.'"

"I guess it took a little longer than that, huh?" He laughed. "But, hey, looks like we got there eventually." He reached for her.

She jerked away and tried to get to her feet again. He let her go, leering the whole time. He could be very graceful in his violence, her spinning mind noted absently, it wasn't a word she usually associated with him.

_I'll kill him if I have to,_ she reminded herself weakly. She just really, _really_ didn't want to. And the longer she stumbled, confused and without her gun, the less it felt like the choice was in her hands either way. 

For the first time in a long time, Miss Pauling was completely flummoxed. 

Scout stepped forward, but slowly. He was drawing this out, Miss Pauling thought. His eyes were very blue and very close. 

Still shockingly dizzy, she scrambled as best she could behind one of the support beams of the storage building. The action was practically meaningless; there was only enough cover to shield her from Scout's view for a couple seconds. It certainly wouldn't help her escape. She could hear Scout laughing as she hid, her backpack pressed painfully into her back as her ankle gave out and her weight fell against the beam. 

Scout approached the beam that Miss Pauling hid behind, practically sauntering. The end of his baseball bat dragged along the concrete behind him. The scraping sound made the hair on the back of Miss Pauling's neck stand on end -- which was certainly the effect that Scout was going for. 

He paused for a moment on the other side. A single column was the only thing between them now. A night breeze blew.

"I must've asked you out about a million times, huh? A million and one," he said, finally stepping around the beam, "I would've shown ya a good time, I promise. But, hey, we can still have fun --"

Scout froze. There, attached to the wooden beam, was a single stickybomb, and nothing else. There was a cocking noise behind him that he instinctively looked at, and he turned to look right at the flare gun Miss Pauling had aimed right at his face. No, not quite at _him_ , at the stickybomb just to his right. As if it were in slow motion, Miss Pauling could see the realization in his eyes, could see the muscles tensing in his long, quick legs.

She fired.

He made it a couple of long strides before everything crashed down around them.

\----

The explosion could be seen even from Teufort, lighting up the night sky. In the morning, the residents watched little spirals of black smoke rise in the distance and complained about 'those damn mercenaries, always blowing themselves up and ruining the sleep of honest folk'.


	4. This Morning

Scout awoke to the feeling of one of his ribs knitting back together. A strange way to wake up, but certainly not the worst -- he could have woken up with his ribs still broken. He lied there and let it happen, blinking in the early morning sun. Maybe he'd had a concussion or something too, because his head was clearing faster and faster the longer Medic's gun stayed on him. He sat up as the last lingering soreness disappeared. 

Great, Scout thought, wiping the gravel and dust off the side of his face, apparently he had also spent the night outside on the ground. Sure, it wasn't the first time he'd done that, but it still sucked.

"Thanks, Doc," he said, waving half-heartedly at Medic when the beam had healed him as much as it could. Despite being free of all injuries, even the Medigun couldn't erase all the effects of a terrible night's sleep.

"Ja," Medic said, and rubbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish, which was also kinda weird. Behind him, Scout could see Sniper nudging a piece of smoldering plywood with his shoe. Why the hell was everyone awake and milling around outside. Why were there pieces of burnt crap everywhere?

He tried very hard to remember last night's chain of events that had led to him passing out under the open sky, assuming this couldn't just be chalked up to drinking a bad batch of Demo's swill. Bits and pieces came to him in jumbled flashes as he emptied out an impressive amount of sand and pebbles from each shoe. He remembered running after someone, remembered grabbing his bat from his locker, remembered his dick being hard. 

He remembered Miss Pauling's face.

And he remembered being overwhelmingly, murderously angry.

"Where's Miss Pauling?" he asked, his guts going cold.

"Ah, well, I don't know."

And as it turned out, _nobody_ knew. 

 

\----

 

But Spy had his suspicions. 

He frowned at the still smoldering rubble in front of him. 

He had felt very strange last night, though he couldn't remember much, and be had been told an equally strange tale this morning. And now Miss Pauling was missing -- seemingly vanished into thin air. 

But it was his nature to uncover secrets, after all. And maybe he had learned a few. 

It was because of one of those secrets that Spy stood before the opening of a dusty and inconspicuous drainage pipe while the rest of the mercenaries were searching the buildings and the yards and the rubble for Miss Pauling. Or for pieces of Miss Pauling, as Spy knew some of the less optimistic mercs believed.

Spy crouched down and entered. In any normal plot of land, the drainage pipe on the edge of the lot wouldn't slowly open up and lead directly to a fortified basement. And the basement itself wouldn't consist of twisting hallways and passages that seemed to serve no purpose but to confuse the unwary. But this wasn't a normal building, of course. It was a structure built for rival bands of mercenaries to shoot each other up in. 

But today Spy was not interested in an easy backstab. He was searching for something else. 

He strolled deeper and deeper into the facility, taking seemingly random turns in the labyrinthine corridors, then stopped at a patch of wall that looked no different than any other. He stood motionless for a moment, thinking, then shifted over about a foot and a half to the left. He smiled. 

He tapped a quick, complicated rhythm on one square of the featureless metal paneling and after a moment did the same to another square three spaces below the first. Another pause, then he just pushed the entire section of false wall to the side. Behind it there was a reinforced steel door with no outer doorknob. It was sealed shut. On the wall next to the door was a rusty intercom. 

Spy pressed and held the button. "Miss Pauling, are you in there?"

There was no answer. Spy's shoulders carried just a hint of tightness. Yes, he had his suspicions, but that's all they were: suspicions. Miss Pauling may very well be nothing but a body buried under the collapsed rubble. 

He tried again. "Miss Pauling, would you like to come out now?"

There was a very long pause, and then:

"That depends. Is everyone still behaving like psychopaths up there?" Her voice was tinny over the intercom. The very ends of Spy's lips curved up into a smile. 

"I promise you, no more than usual."

"And you're sure?"

"I am. Whatever insanity was infecting us all last night has passed."

"I don't suppose you can prove that without me having to actually come out and check, can you?"

"I'm afraid I cannot, Miss Pauling." Spy flicked open his cigarette case and withdrew one. 

There was a long sigh over the intercom. "For a spy you've always been surprisingly trustworthy."

"Mmmhmm," Spy said around the cigarette, "I suppose you will have to come out and see if I am still trustworthy today."

Another pause, and then a series of faint, mechanical clangs as Miss Pauling unbolted several locks from her side of the door -- then she stepped out into tunnel. 

Some of Spy's newly regained good humor left him when he saw her. One side of her jaw was bruised, as was her wrist. Both were developing into a shade of purple that would soon match her dress. Her knees were skinned and bloody and she heavily favored her left leg as she walked. 

All in all, her injuries were relatively mild, but they were sobering. It had been a pretty wild tale that they'd told him when Engineer had finally gotten the door across the cell to unlock: a mysterious sneak attack, unauthorized fights, the wild goose chase for Miss Pauling. A rather unusual night, to say the least. But here she was in front of him looking more exhausted and disheveled than he'd ever seen her; it reminded him that it certainly had been a very unpleasant night for everyone involved. 

"Good morning, Miss Pauling. You look terrible," Spy said. Miss Pauling made a face at him, but he continued: "I believe everyone else is still out searching for you."

"How did all of you get out of your rooms, anyway?"

"Give the engineer enough time and I do believe he could get _anything_ mechanical to do his bidding." Miss Pauling smiled at that and he continued, "Shall we emerge from this damp basement and rejoin the rest of the team now?"

"I'd prefer to clean up a little before seeing the guys." She smiled wryly. "I don't feel very professional right now."

Spy nodded, he could understand that. "I can cloak us both long enough to get into the building unseen."

 

\----

 

Spy offered his arm and Miss Pauling took it. A moment later there was a vague chill that spread across her skin as Spy activated his watch. This wasn't the first time she'd experienced cloaking technology, but it was always a strange thrill to look down at your body and see nothing but a wavering silhouette. They walked silently, arm-in-arm towards the base entrance, which was fortunately relatively close. 

"Were you affected last night?" Miss Pauling asked, her voice low even though none of the other mercs were in hearing range yet.

"Yes." The spot where Spy's voice came from was completely clear, though she could feel the fabric of his suit under her arm.

"What happened?" Miss Pauling asked. She'd only run into a couple of the mercenaries last night, thank god, but she still wondered what the rest had gotten up to.

"There's not much to say, I was locked in my room the whole time," Spy said. "I remember feeling absolutely furious. Everything else is very hazy."

A surprisingly mild answer. Miss Pauling was thankful that Spy wasn't one of mercs hunting her down last night. That sort of cat-and-mouse game was just the sort of scenario he excelled in, and she had no doubt that her body would be cooling slowly in a dark corner somewhere with a knife in her back if he had been stalking the base.

"Oh, though I did repeatedly stab a purple pocket square without really knowing why," Spy continued.

Miss Pauling grimaced and fell silent. 

"A little faster, if you please, Miss Pauling. The added surface area drains the power more quickly," Spy whispered after a moment. Miss Pauling braced herself against the pain in her ankle and picked up the pace to keep up with Spy's long stride. Most of the team was out by the collapsed building, so they really only had to avoid Sniper who was searching for something in a toolbox near the entrance. They gave him a wide berth. 

They de-cloaked in an empty hallway just past the outer doors. "Thanks," Miss Pauling said, with feeling, as she let go of Spy's arm. He nodded. 

"Okay," she said, getting back to business. "Let everyone know that you've found me, then bring Medic back to the infirmary to patch me up real quick. I'll get breakfast, a shower, and a change of clothes, and then we'll all get together and debrief."

She looked unhappily at the smoldering building. "And then probably cleanup duty."

_God,_ Miss Pauling thought as she surveyed the wreckage. _The Administrator is going to kill me._


	5. Now

Miss Pauling sat in the infirmary drinking tiny paper cup after tiny paper cup of water from the the water cooler until Medic arrived. 

Thankfully, he was alone when he finally walked through the door, which Miss Pauling greatly appreciated because now that she was out of mortal danger all the aches and pains and fatigues of the night were returning in full force and frankly, at this point, she wanted to interact with the smallest amount of people possible. Medic, too, was on the list of people that she could use a break from after the events of last night, but with her head still fuzzy and her ankle throbbing in time to the beat of her heart, she supposed it was a necessary evil. 

"Well, hello there!" Medic said as he pulled on a pair of brand new gloves as the door to the infirmary swung shut behind him, seemingly in a rather cheery mood and completely unaffected by last night's violence. "Glad to see that the erstwhile Miss Pauling has been found."

Miss Pauling frowned at him. 

He caught her mood, but it didn't seem to phase him. "Ah, I see you are still angry with me. Well, I do admit that I wasn't myself last night."

She raised an eyebrow. "Really? You didn't sound too different than normal."

He waved a hand dismissively. "No, no, I am back to my respectable self, I promise you."

"Mmhmm," was all Miss Pauling could say in response, still grumpy from last night's attempted murder. But she did believe him. From what she could see, all the mercenaries were back to normal. 

Then there was a heavy thud against the wall, and a commotion out in the hallway. 

"Fuck you all! I'm seeing her, get the hell off me!" Some piece of furniture was sent crashing to the floor. 

"Does no one respect the doctor-patient relationship?" Medic said with exasperation, as if he himself actually cared about it at all. He stood up. "Excuse me, I suppose I must go deadbolt the door."

Miss Pauling sighed, her head throbbing worse than before. "No, you better let him in. Just for a second. He'll probably make a mess of your waiting room if you don't."

Medic shrugged. "Just for a second," he relented. He cracked open the office door and stuck his head through to the waiting room. "Thank you, Heavy, but please put Scout down. He may have a short visit with the patient -- if he can behave." 

Scout practically burst through the door. "Miss Pauling!"

At full speed he ran over to her and gathered her into big, desperate hug. His arms were warm around her, but the movement jostled her ankle and his shoulder pressed into the bruise at her jaw. The memory of him using his body to back her into the wall flashed through her mind and she involuntarily winced. 

"Oh man, Miss Pauling, you would not believe how glad I am to see you. We was looking for you all morning! I tell ya, I can't--"

It was then that he seemed to notice how stiff she was in his arms. He stepped back and looked at her carefully for the first time since busting in. 

"Holy fucking shit." It was like all the bluster was punched out of him. His eyes widened. 

Miss Pauling resisted the urge to squirm under his gaze. She felt strange, like she was embarrassed for Scout to see that she was able to be hurt. It was stupid, but, well, there it was. She sat up straight and tried to look impassive. 

His eyes flicked from her chin to the bruises ringing her wrist to the heavy scrapes on her knees. He was very still, except for the corners of his mouth tightening a little more at each new thing he saw. 

"Oh, Miss Pauling..." He trailed off, looking lost. His hand lifted like it was going to touch her jaw, but then dropped like he just couldn't bring himself to do it. 

Miss Pauling had to stop this before the situation deteriorated any more. "Scout, it's fine. I'm fine. Medic is going to fix me up and then we'll all get back on schedule."

"But --"

She cut him off with a quick wave of her hand. "Like I said, it's over. 

He opened his mouth like he was going to say more, but it was Medic's turn to interrupt. "Alright, visiting hours are over. Scout, it's time for you to go."

Despite the fuss he had put up trying to get into the infirmary, he left when told. Silently, and still with wide eyes, he slowly walked out, glancing back at her with every step. 

Letting Scout leave in such a state brewed a nasty combination of guilt and unfinished business in the pit of her stomach. Both were feelings she despised, and added to the general shittiness of the last twelve hours. But she let the matter sit for now. She would talk this out with him later. Sometime when she didn't have a pulsing headache and aches in half-a-dozen places. 

"Up here, Miss Pauling!" Medic said when Scout had shut the door behind him. He patted the slightly inclined examination table in the center of the room. He sounded jovial and trustworthy, like the family doctor she had gone to when she was a kid. Miss Pauling was not fooled, but she followed his directions nonetheless. 

"First time I've had you on my table, I believe," he said as he fiddled with the stationary Medigun that hung from the ceiling. It was slightly unnerving to have the barrel pointed right at her chest despite knowing that it would only shoot a healing beam. 

"Let's make it the only time," she said. 

"Well, it will be a pleasure, I assure you."

"Medic, you are sounding way too much like you were last night," Miss Pauling said, rubbing the bridge of her nose. 

"Ah, forgive me," he said, not sounding particularly remorseful. He turned to the instrument tray next to him, blocking it from view. She heard the clink of something sharp and metal, then the whir of the Medigun. "Let us begin, shall we?"

\----

Miss Pauling stepped out of the shower feelingly incredibly refreshed. She'd spent most of the exhausting afternoon taking stock of what had been damaged, overseeing cleanup, and gathering what sparse clues there were regarding the makers of the rocket. But now, between the hot water and her time in the Doctor's office she was back on her game. Despite his atrocious bedside manner, Medic did his job very well. She examined herself in the foggy bathroom mirror. There was no evidence that last night had even happened, besides the tattered dress that she'd promptly thrown in the trash at the first opportunity. Her swollen jaw, limp, and various scrapes were completely healed. 

She changed into her pajamas. She would be ready to go back to work in the morning, bright and early. In fact, maybe she should go over some of the most recent financial reports right now so she doesn't fall behind while directing the base-wide cleanup that is sure to take up all of --

There was a knock at her door. 

Her pajamas covered her from neck to ankle, but she shrugged on a housecoat anyways before she answered the door. 

It was Scout. 

His cap was gone and his hair wasn't slicked back to within an inch of its life, for once. He was in his casual clothes, and he no longer seemed dazed. Just... distant.

"Hi, Scout." She gave him a small, gentle smile. Usually Scout didn't need any encouragement in social situations, but Lord knew it had been a rough day. 

"Hi," he said quietly, with no apparent attempt at smiling back. And no apparent attempt at sleazy flirting, which was even weirder.

She noticed he was holding something. In his limp fingers were her glasses. She vaguely remembered them being knocked off her face on the cracked asphalt parking lot last night. Scout must have found them. 

"Oh. Thank you, Scout. I had an extra pair," she tapped on the side of her frames, "But I'm glad to get these back." Her fingers brushed against his as she gently took her glasses and tucked them in her shirt pocket. 

"Are you-," he swallowed, "How are you feeling?"

"Perfectly fine. Medic fixed me right up," Miss Pauling said. Scout looked like he didn't believe her. "Maybe a little tired," she added. 

"Oh," he said. "That's good." He stopped, apparently at a loss for words. Funny, the amount of times that she thought his silence would be a relief. It certainly wasn't now. She had no idea where he was going with this.

It was like talking to a stranger. Miss Pauling didn't know how to deal with a Scout that hesitated and couldn't meet her eyes. Miss Pauling had many impressive skills, but comforting others was not one of them. 

"I remember now. What happened, y'know, last night."

"Um, it's okay," she said, figuring he was here to apologize or explain himself or something. 

"It kinda isn't," he said, his voice cracking a little.

Oh boy.

Miss Pauling was suddenly very aware of the surveillance camera mounted on the ceiling just down the hallway.

"Why don't you come in." Miss Pauling wouldn't put it past the Administrator to have installed some sort of recording device in her personal room, but since she hadn't actually ever found anything she continued to work on the assumption that it provided at least a modicum of privacy.

She shut the door behind them. Scout looked like a dog expecting to be kicked. Miss Pauling had no intention of doing so, but she also had precious little experience in treating Scout with kid gloves. Being gentle wasn't her strong suit. 

Scout didn't even take the opportunity to gawk at her personal quarters before he started in. "I said a lotta things. _Threatened_ a lotta things." He withdrew in on himself even further, though Miss Pauling was surprised that was even possible. "I feel sick just thinking about it -- like I swallowed glass, or something."

"Uh, maybe you want to take a seat?" she asked uncertainly, gesturing towards the armchair in the corner while she took the spot facing him on the edge of the bed. She mentally kicked herself. Wow, she certainly was articulate and smooth today. Scout didn't seem to notice, however, and took her suggestion, even if he looked uncomfortable. 

"I would've killed a guy that did something like that to my ma," he said, staring at her now unmarked jaw but absently running his thumb along his own. "Like, really killed him. With a bat."

"I'm not your mother, Scout."

"I would've killed anybody who did something like that to you, too."

Objectively, Scout declaring that he would kill somebody for Miss Pauling should not have been a big deal. He killed people nearly every day, and often on her orders (granted, they usually respawned).

Emotionally, though, this felt very different. She said nothing and looked at his fidgeting hands.

"You gotta know that I didn't mean it, any of it. Well, I guess I meant it at the time, but that's not how I think of you."

"I know, Scout."

"It really isn't."

"Look, you're not the only one who tried to kill me. Everyone else was affected too." She kept 'besides Pyro' to herself. It wasn't particularly helpful at that moment. 

"None of the other guys said... any of that other stuff to you though."

Well, that _was_ true. Miss Pauling didn't quite know what to say to that. It seemed that Scout didn't know either because the silence stretched between them. 

"I'm sorry," he said again, helplessly. 

Scout looked like he was about five seconds from getting down on his knees and begging for forgiveness that she had already granted. Was it possible for someone to look too old and too young at the same time? Because Scout was managing it.

Miss Pauling hardly knew what to do with all the emotions on display here. Yeah, Scout had made it abundantly clear that he liked her -- a lot -- but this was beyond the schoolboy crush that she'd taken it for.

She had no answer for that now, maybe she never would. But she could do this.

Miss Pauling stood and walked the three steps it took to stand in front of him in the chair. He looked up at her -- so, _so_ vulnerable despite the drops of someone else's blood on his handwraps. He waited, silently, for whatever she would say.

Instead Miss Pauling reached out and pulled him into a hug. With a shuddering release of breath, his arms came up to wrap around her waist and the side of his face pressed against her belly. She ran her hands over his shoulder and the back of his neck. She was reminded that, despite all his bloodlust, he was still the smallest of the mercenaries in terms of mass. A little younger than her, too. 

"Hey. No more beating yourself up, okay? Save it for the people who sent that rocket." She ran her hands through his short hair and just let herself enjoy the physical sensation of being so close to another person. His hands spanning her back and his breath against her.

Miss Pauling allowed it to continue for another half a minute before her sense of professionalism, ever present, began to remind her that this wasn't exactly how coworkers should act. She cleared her throat and stepped back while Scout got to his feet. She led him towards the doorway, before stopping at the threshold of the hallway.

"Are you going to be ready to do your job tomorrow?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said shakily. Then, more confidently, "Yeah, of course, Miss Pauling. You know me, I always got my running shoes on and my swinging arm ready to take out whatever dumbass thinks he can--"

"Great," she said, cutting him off, though not unkindly, "See you in the morning."

Then he was off, hopefully back to his quarters to get a good night's rest, leaving Miss Pauling to wonder exactly how much of this encounter she needed to put into a report.

\----

There was a message for Miss Pauling the next morning when she logged into the company network. A pixelated, green and black photo of a thickset man sitting at a table, the brim of his hat pulled low. There was a cigarette in his hand. Typed underneath the photo was an unfamiliar name.

The accompanying text simply read:

**Assemble the team. You have your next assignment.**

And below that the option to download the dossier. Only two keystrokes were needed -- Miss Pauling typed 'Y' and hit enter. 

Assignment accepted.

**Author's Note:**

> This will probably be updated about once a week. 
> 
> Haha, maybe.
> 
>  
> 
> Contents/Spoilers for the story (highlight to read):
> 
> -Almost all the mercenaries get drugged with some sort of rage gas that makes them absolutely murderous towards the Administrator and Miss Pauling.   
> -Also, Scout's normal attraction to Miss Pauling is changed to an unstable desire for sexual violence. He's the only one though.  
> -Miss Pauling is physically (but not sexually) hurt by Scout during the course of the story.


End file.
